Further Adventures of the Son of Indiana Jones
by O'Banion
Summary: Mutt continues to struggle with his relationship with his newly-acquired father.


It had been over a month since Mutt's last run-in with the so-called "Paddle of Doom", and while has backside had thoroughly recovered, his ego certainly had not. While the redness and swelling had slowly subsided, his feelings of resentment had gradually increased.

"How dare he spank me like a little kid?" Mutt thought of his recently acquired father. "He has no right to suddenly start acting like my dad, when he hasn't been around for my whole life."

Out of anger and embarrassment, Mutt started to avoid Dr. Jones. He'd stay out late at night with friends, other rebellious teenagers with leather jackets and switch-blade knives. He'd wait until Indiana had left the house for the day before emerging from his bedroom, his own private lair.

Indiana understood that he had hurt the boy's pride, not to mention his bottom, and thought it best to give him space for a while. He remembered from his own youth the mixed feelings inspired by a paternal butt-busting. He had respected his own father and knew that the discipline was motivated by love, but he had no desire to be around Dr. Jones senior immediately after a backside-warming session. Indiana resolved to let a week or two pass before confronting the lad.

However, after over a month of Mutt's avoidance, Indy had had enough. One morning, in early August, Indy made all the sounds of leaving the house for the day, including open and closing the front door, but really remained inside, knowing that Mutt would soon emerge from his bedroom.

Hardly a minute had passed before Mutt strutted into the living room ,clad only in his white underpants. His face immediately registered the shock of his father's presence.

"I know why you've been avoiding me, Mutt. But it's time we had a talk," Indy started.

"I have nothing to say to you," Mutt interrupted, already retreating toward his room.

"Stay here, Mutt!" Indy commanded.

Mutt was not only surprised that his father had so cunningly tricked him out of his room, he was also incredibly embarrassed to be seen in only his undies. His estranged father had never seen him like this.

"At least let me put some clothes on," Mutt said, turning about face and heading back toward his bedroom, presenting Indy with the sight of his shapely posterior snuggly contained within his tightie whities.

Indy waited for about four minutes with his arms crossed, knowing full well that Mutt wasn't in any hurry to continue their heart-to-heart. When Mutt finally returned, he was wearing his signature white t-shirt, with the short sleeves rolled up to reveal his biceps, and tight butt-hugging levis. His son certainly was a fine specimen, Indy proudly thought to himself.

"Look, Mutt," Indy started, "What's done is done. It's in the past now, so it's time to forgive and forget. I'm willing to if you are."

"Easy for you to say," Mutt retorted. "You're not the one who couldn't sit down for a week. What was I supposed to tell my buddies when they wanted to go out for a ride? 'Oh, sorry, I can't my ass is so sore I can't sit down?!' I had to lie and say I was out with a girl. When they found out that wasn't true, they demanded the reason. I've had to avoid them. I haven't been able to do anything cool for the last three weeks. So it's all very well for you to say that the whole thing is in the past, 'cause for you it is. But I'm still dealing with it!"

"Why didn't you just tell your friends you'd gotten in trouble and got a hiding? I'm sure they get the same at home. Those boys are constantly causing trouble. I bet their Pops have them over their knee all the time," Indy said, laughing at the thought.

"We're seventeen, not seven! Not everyone is as backwards as you. I'm out of here."

"Not so fast, tough guy. We need to talk about getting your school uniform. We only have about three weeks until you're off to Weldon."

Mutt rolled his eyes. He would have protested, except the memory his last paternal argument and it's subsequent ramifications was fresh in his mind.

"I've arranged an appointment in town for a fitting tomorrow morning. Nine o'clock sharp. I expect you to be up and showered and ready to go by eight thirty. Understood?"

Mutt again rolled his eyes.

"Listen, son, I don't like your attitude. You know where the paddle is, if it's attitude adjustment you're after I'm more than willing to oblige."

Mutt straigtened up at once, not at all eager for a repeat performance with the so-called Paddle of Doom.

"Sorry, sir. I'll be ready at eight thirty."

"Good, now, I've got to run to the store. Behave yourself."

With that, Indy walked outside, keys in hand, feeling quite pleased with himself. After all, he had only recently learned of his son's existence. He considered quite a good father, with only a few months experience. He was doing his absolute best to turn his offspring from a rambunctious hooligan into a model citizen. He doubted that he'd ever have to pull out that paddle again. The message had clearly gotten through.

Meanwhile, Mutt, finally on his own in the house, decided to once again make himself comfortable. He stripped off his jeans and his t-shirt and flopped himself on the sofa with a soda in his hand. He preferred the freedom of wearing only his underpants to the restricted feeling of clothing.

Turning on the TV, he began absent-mindedly playing with himself. One of the perks of having the house to himself, he had found, was that it offered abundant time to jerk off. He was at that age where he could quite easily jerk off a few times a day. His mind wasn't even on his masturbating as he began stroking his hardening cock. His eyes were glued to the television, a brand spanking new episode of Flipper.

On the screen the father warned his sons of impending danger: "Remember neither of you are too big to be put over my knee." He wagged is finger the face of his eldest, a blonde of about 15.

"This conversation sounds awfully familiar," Mutt thought, continuing to stroke his cock. "What's the matter with Dad's? I was much happier before I had one. All they seem to do is treat grown boys like they're 5. Sure a spanking is alright for a little kid, who doesn't know any better. But for young men over 12 it's absurd."

Mutt comforted himself with the reassurance that the Flipper stars surely wouldn't be spanked. It had only been a threat. Not every father is as unreasonable as Dr. Jones.

However in the next scene, as the boys rode around the neighborhood on their bicycles, they're conversation implied that they'd been in trouble.

"Gosh, Pop was awful sore when he found out we'd disobeyed him, wasn't he?" The younger brother said to the elder.

"I'll say," replied the 15-year-old blonde. "And he's not the only one."

As the camera panned down, Mutt saw exactly what he meant. The two boys had placed pillows beneath their bottoms and the bicycle seats. They had clearly felt their father's wrath in the form of a tanning. Mutt sympathized. Poor kids, he thought, remember well his own desire for a pillow every time he sat down for a full week following his busting.

He started wondering if his father had been right about his buddies getting licked at home. They certainly never spoke about it. He didn't blame. The last thing he had wanted for his friends to find out that he been bent over by his newly-acquired father for paddle swats on the bottom. It was embarrassing. However, the more he thought about it, the more his father's words made sense.

Sometimes, after a late night escapade, the sheriff would escort Mutt and his group of friends home, ringing the doorbells at each house and handing over the young man to his pajama-clad parents. The fathers always had a stern and determined look in their eye. He remembered his friends' hesitation approaching the door. Mutt, with only a single mother at home at the time, had nothing to fear. The worst he ever got was a stern verbal reprimand from his mother.

After these incidents, Mutt would always be eager to go back out on the town with the gang. They always seemed less eager to do so. At the time, he thought maybe they had been grounded by their old man, and didn't want to admit it. Now, however, he started examining the possibilities that maybe their bums had been too sore that they couldn't sit down on a motorcycle without a great deal of pain. After about a week or so, the boys were always right back out.

"A week or so," Mutt pondered. "Exactly how long it took for my own bottom to heal."

The more he thought about the more certain he became. His buddies got butt-bustings too. He thought about each of his friends getting paternal punishments. First there was Riff, a blonde all-American type who was a kind of group leader. Riff's Dad was very by the book. He probably made Riff bend over and grab his ankles before warming his ass up with sharp swats of the paddle. Mutt absent-mindedly masturbated as he considered is friend bending over for swats.

Next he thought of Action, an Italian American practical joker who wore a bandana around his head. Mutt imagined him bent over the edge of his bed, jeans and undies around his ankles, getting licked with his father's belt on his bare backside. He continued stroking his cock while imagining this scenario.

Third, he thought of his close friend, Baby John, a short but muscular kid of sixteen, with curly hair and a baby face. Baby John was small enough in stature to go over his dad's knee and get the fleshy mounds of his rump pounded with a hairbrush. Mutt resumed his cock stroking as he conjured up this image in his head. He imagined cute Baby John bucking on his father's lap as the stiff-backed wooden brush turned his behind bright red.

Lastly there was A-rab, a tall skinny brown-haired youth, with dazzling blue eyes and a pert backside. His Dad probably made him go out and fetch his own switch each time he was in for it. Mutt imagined tall, skinny A-rab, bottom bared and bending over, taking a good hiding with a hickory switch.

As Mutt climaxed, he imagined all of his friends' bright red bottoms in a row, recently seen to by their respective fathers. Poor guys, he thought as he relaxed after his ejaculation. He certainly could have been more sympathetic in the past.

Mutt cleaned himself up and switched off the TV before jumping in the shower.

That afternoon, Mutt had one goal: to find out if his mates got their honeys whacked by their Dads. He had come up with a plan to find out. Namely, he was going to lie.

"Hey, Daddio," Mutt said as he rounded the corner behind the drug store and found Baby John waiting on his own, flipping his switchblade in and out of its sheath.

"Mutt!" He cried, locking hands in clap-handshake. "What's shaking?"

Soon the other lads had arrived, eager to cause trouble.

"What's up, Mutt? Where have you been? How's your 'girlfriend'?" A-rab enquired.

"Oh, shut it. You know I'm sorry about that whole thing." Mutt replied.

"Yo, dude," Action started, "You never explained why you lied to us."

"Yeah," Baby John added, looking betrayed.

"Mutt, we're brothers here," Riff began. "You can tell us anything. Why did you lie?"

"I didn't lie to you guys," Mutt stated.

"Mutt," Riff lectured, "You said you couldn't come out riding because of some girl. Which was cool. But then we saw you half an hour later walking around the park alone, throwing stones into the pond and looking awful dejected. When we approached, you took off."

"Yeah, and you haven't been around much since," Baby John chimed in.

"I've been doing some thinking. So sue me," Mutt shrugged them off with this comment.

"Ah, it's alright. At least you're back now. What do you say, let's go riding," Baby John suggested.

"Hold on, I gotta tell you guys something. My Dad is insisting I go away to this school, Weldon. Its miles away so I wouldn't even be able to see you guys." Mutt started to tell them of his woes. The looks he got in return illustrated the devastation he was causing. "I'd much rather be here with you guys, but it looks like I don't have much choice in the matter."

"Why doesn't he just make you go the local high school? Then you could stay in town." Baby John suggested.

"Yeah, screw this Weldon place. What's so good about it?" Action enquired.

"Well it's got a great reputation for academics and…discipline." Mutt replied, lifting an eyebrow to see the reaction to his last word.

"What the heck?" Riff began. "Discipline? What like army disclipline?"

"Kind of," Mutt replied. "All I know is they have a paddle. My Dad warned me not to get out of line if I valued my hide."

The guys laughed. Then they began mocking poor Mutt.

"Oh, no, not the paddle," A-rab squeeled.

"Please sir not on my bare tushy," Riff mocked, dropping his jeans to reveal his stark-white buttocks. The lads were rolling on the floor after that.

"You guys, it's not funny!" Mutt screamed. They tried to regain control of their laughter. "I've never been spanked with a paddle." Mutt lied. "I've never been spanked at all. I don't feel inclined to start now. I'm seventeen."

The shock that registered on each of the boys' faces was very telling.

"You've never been spanked, Mutt? Not even by your Mom?" Baby John asked with shock.

"Nope," Mutt lied again, he didn't want to face the embarrassment of revealing that he had in fact been paddled quite recently.

"Lucky!" A-rab said.

"I'll say." Baby John seconded.

"My old man lets me have it all the time," Action added.

"I've had my share of ass whuppins," Riff contributed. "They suck. My Pop hits harder the older I get."

"I didn't know you guys got licked by your Dads. Aren't you a bit old for that?" Mutt asked.

"Dude," A-rab said, "It's so obvious you haven't grown up with a Dad. My Dad says as long as I live under his roof, I'm subject to his rules. If I break one, I'm subject to his punishments. His punishments always involve his belt and my bare ass."

So, Mutt thought, he'd wrong about the switching. Probably too southern a theme.

Riff added, "My Dad's belt is used on my ass more than its ever used to hold up his pants. But at least I don't get it bare. He stopped making me bare my butt a long time ago. Now I get it over my underwear. He feels its more civilized. But he certainly makes up for the extra layer of clothes with the added force of his swing."

The boys laughed.

"What about you Baby John? You get the belt?" Mutt asked.

"No, far too barbaric," Baby John joked. "My Pop favors kitchen utensils. A metal spatula, a wooden spoon. Whatever's handy. I can't tell you the number of wooden spoons he's broken over my hiney. He always makes me replace them when they break. Mr Samson at the store started asking why I'm constantly buying wooden spoons. I told him my Mom has a collection. I don't know if he buys it. Whenever the wooden spoons break, Pops finished the job with a spatula. Much sturdier, a metal spatula. But both feel like hell when they're smacking your rear."

"My dad just uses his hand," Action informed the others, who groaned at the unfairness. "But the sessions last for about an hour. Twenty minute over my jeans, twenty over my undies and twenty bare assed. Believe me, its not fun. I'd prefer a quick twenty whacks with a belt any day."

"I can't belive you've never gotten spanked," Baby John whined. "Totally unfair."

"Hey guys," Riff said, grabbing ahold of Mutts right bicep.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Action asked, eyebrow raised. He quickly grabbed Mutts other arm.

"I think it's high time you got your first spanking, Mutt."

"NO!!" Mutt screamed, aware of where his lying had got him.

As Baby John began unbuttoning his jeans, Mutt shouted "I have been spanked. I lied. My Dad paddled me a few weeks ago. Please!"

"Yeah, right," A-rab started, grabbing Mutt's jeans from behind and pulling them quickly down to his ankles. "You can't fool us now. You're cruising for a bruising, Mutt. Time for your first ass licking,"


End file.
